


Domestic Disturbance

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Banter, Coitus Interruptus, F/F, Police, Protective Rowena MacLeod
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 13:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18757462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Rowena and reader's night of fun is ruined when two police officers show up at their door.





	Domestic Disturbance

Things were just getting heated in the bedroom when the bell rang and, like a flip of a switch, your entire night went to hell.

Rowena, pissed beyond belief (no one dared interrupt her sexy times), suggested pretending nobody was home, but with the lights on and her very, very loud moaning (the woman was quite a vocal lover) not even a minute earlier, whoever was at the door wouldn't buy that. No one in their right mind would.

So, begrudgingly, the two of you slipped on robes and, shouting that you were coming to stop the incessant ringing, headed for the door.

On your doorstep were two men clad in uniforms as dark as the night, in their mid-thirties, faces bearing similar professional, curt expressions. Stern but not rude. All business, no play.

Police officers.

"Good evening," they said in unison, in an almost rehearsed pace.

You returned the greeting. Rowena did as well a full moment afterwards, a picture-perfect smile plastered over her face. The sugary sweet one you'd learned to recognize as a clear sign that she did not want to be in this situation a single bit and she was playing along to get out of it as soon as possible.

Sounded like a plan.

"We got a call about possible domestic violence in this house," one of the officers said.

"What?" you said, baffled.

Rowena was just as shocked. "That's surely a mistake," she said, trying her hardest to keep the rage that was no doubt bubbling up inside her contained. "I can assure you fine policemen no violence of any kind has ever occurred in this house."

Unless they counted you slapping her in the face, choking her, and swinging at her with a leather whip from time to time, including earlier tonight.

_ Shit! _

The officers turned to her and took in her reddened cheek, neck with marks in the shapes of fingers, and a long, thin welt on her forearm.

Then they turned to (spotless, unharmed) you and you knew right then and there that you were in big trouble.

_ Shit, shit, shit! _

An embarrassed blush crept up to your cheeks at the same time as chills of dread spilled from the back of your neck down the length of your spine.

How were you supposed to explain your girlfriend's injuries were voluntary? That she had asked you to hurt her, enjoyed it, relished in it? Would they believe you? Would they believe  _ her? _

It wasn't unheard of in situations like these for the victim to defend their significant other out of fear. These officers had to have witnessed it first hand; it was only natural for them to be suspicious. It was, after all, their job.

However, no domestic violence had happened here. No abuse of any kind. You'd never raised your hand at Rowena. Had never once thought of hitting her, of hurting her in any way. Hell, sometimes you felt guilty for shouting at her during arguments. The mere thought that you would abuse her was ridiculous.

The evidence, though, said otherwise. At least in the eyes of strangers.

"May we come in?" the other officer said.

Your throat suddenly felt as if it were stuffed with cotton, dry to the point of pain.

"Whatever for?" Rowena asked politely. Too politely. The what-in-hell-do-I-have-to-do-for-you-to-get-the-fuck-off-my-property kind of polite.

"Just to talk a bit," the first officer told her.

"It's routine," the other one added.

Rowena looked at you, then back at them, smile never leaving her face, and said, "Whatever you need. We've nothing to hide. Isn't that right, dearest?"

"Of course," you made yourself utter, mimicking — or rather trying and failing badly to mimic — her fake courteous tone.

The officers observed the house as they entered it, took in every visible surface, every detail. There were no signs of struggle; no blood on the walls and floor, no broken furniture, no shattered glass. Nothing to indicate there had been violence of any kind prior to them appearing. The living room was small and cozy. If something bad had happened, there would have been traces. You hoped they saw it the same way.

One officer took Rowena aside, while the other, who introduced himself as Rogers, led you to the other side. Blood ran cold in your veins. Did they think you really did it? Did they think Rowena was scared to talk honestly around you? Was that why they were separating you?

A shot of anger bubbled up inside you, but you kept it down. No use getting angry in front of the police. They were just doing their job, you reminded yourself. If you'd received a domestic violence call and then saw an injured woman, you would be suspicious as well.

"Can you tell me what happened?" officer Rogers said in a friendly voice that made you feel comfortable to tell him all your secrets.

Not that you wanted to. How were you supposed to tell someone your girlfriend got injured during sex, and only because she'd asked for it?

Blushing, you said, "Nothing."

He cocked up an eyebrow. You couldn't tell if he believed you or not. "A neighbor said they saw what they described as domestic violence through the window."

_ They. _

You held back a snort.

She. It was a she, and you knew exactly who she was. That old hag had had it in for you and Rowena ever since you'd moved in. She was just asking for an excuse to report you for something. Anything.

And you'd given it to her on a silver platter. You mentally cursed yourself for forgetting to shut the blinds. In your defense, you were going to just as you'd closed the window, but then you saw Rowena, naked as the day she'd been born, with a whip in her lap and a smirk on her mouth, and everything else was instantly forgotten.

So really, it was Rowena's fault you were in this mess.

"It was Mrs. Holloway, wasn't it?" you said, the hag's name bitter on your tongue. Poison. Cyanide. "She's been harassing us for ages!"

Harassing was too mild a word for what that bat had done to the two of you. She'd openly, very loudly, called you whores, dykes, and Satan-worshippers. It was that last one that had, at one point, pissed Rowena off so much that she cursed her. Mrs. Holloway had broken out in boils and hives that lasted for a week and left ugly scars. She was certain you and Rowena had done that to her, which, in her mind, confirmed that you were Satanists.

But really, what she was actually bothered by was that you were two women in a relationship living together. It was clear from the very start your  _ lifestyle _ had offended her delicate, old-fashioned sensibilities. Everything else was just an excuse to harass you for daring to be a same-sex couple in her neighborhood.

"I'm not at liberty to say who it was," officer Rogers said, but from the look in his eyes you knew you'd guessed right.

You sighed. "Nothing happened, really," you said with utmost conviction, praying to Chuck he believed you. "We were just, um…"

He cocked his head to the side, prompting you to go on.

Heat spilled into your cheeks and down your neck. "We were having sex." You had to force the words out of your mouth, throat tight with embarrassment. "We-we forgot to shut the blinds and I guess the, um" — homophobic bitch — "neighbor saw us."

You wished the earth would open underneath your feet and swallow you whole.

Officer Rogers nodded, a tad flustered but professional. He must have heard stories like this a lot. Maybe even walked in on a few. "Okay, so it was a willing sexual encounter?"

"Yeah," you said. "Rowena — my girlfriend — she likes it a bit… rough." Understatement of the century. "We usually make sure the blinds are shut, but tonight we forgot. It's really embarrassing." Understatement of the millenia.

The officer smiled. "Understandable."

You returned a nervous smile. "The neighbor just waited for an excuse to report us for something."

"Every neighborhood has one of those," Rogers said.

"Guess so."

"We're sorry for bursting in like this," he told you. "We have to take every report seriously."

"I totally understand," you said, and you did. It wasn't them you were angry at. "It's your job."

"Make sure to shut the blinds next time."

"Believe me, we will!"

Just as you said that, a loud, overly dramatic exclamation of "WHAT?!" echoed through the small room. Rowena was fuming, her face red as a tomato, like a bomb about to explode.

Oh, no.

Oh, hell, no!

"How dare you?! You come into my house and you—"

"Ma'am, I'm just—" the officer talking to her tried, but was promptly, curtly cut off.

"I will not tolerate such insinuati—"

"I'm not trying to offend—"

"Who the hell do you think you are?!"

"I'm just—"

"Get out!"

The officer put his hands up in a placating motion. "Ma'am—"

"Get out of my bloody house!" shrieked Rowena and pointed her perfectly manicured forefinger to the door. The fingers on her other hand clenched around a piece of paper, crumpling it into a ball. Something told you she wanted to do the same thing to the officer's head.

"Ma'am, calm down," officer Rogers said.

"Rowena, it's okay," you said before she could snap at him, too. Her eyes locked with yours, and you gave a small nod, a wordless warning that she should calm down before she did something that would land the two of you in actual trouble.

_ "Officer  _ Matthews," Rowena spat the title bitterly, tone even, calmer. A tranquil fury on the edge of eruption. One more push and she was done, "has made some outrageous and outright offensive claims that I do  _ not _ appreciate."

Her polite — ish — way of saying he said something that pissed her off so much she wanted to hurt him.

You hoped she wouldn't hurt him.

"Ms. MacLeod, I never meant to offend you or your partner," officer Matthews said earnestly. "I'm just doing my job."

"Your job—"

You cut her off before she could tell him exactly what she thought about his job and the way he was doing it. "She knows. You know, right, Rowena?" You shot her a look that told her she'd better know. "She's just a bit… temperamental. Please, don't be mad at her. She really meant no harm."

"We understand this is a very stressful situation for you," officer Rogers said.

Matthews nodded in agreement. "We're only here to resolve this issue. Preferably without incident." He looked at Rowena as he said that.

The sweet smile was back on her mouth, just as fake, just as sugary. "Of course," she said in a tone that matched it perfectly. Her hand shot up to her heart. "My humblest apologies for my behaviour. I guess I just get a wee protective of my darling sometimes. You understand, don't you?"

"Of course," officer Matthews replied. "Like I said, I meant no offense. Just doing my job."

"Fine job, it is! Our town is so lucky to have such dedicated policemen protecting it."

You turned your head and rolled your eyes. Smiling was one thing — that she could somewhat pull off. Acting, on the other hand…

For some reason, Rowena thought herself a fabulous actress. You didn't have the heart to tell her she was worse than a first grader in a school play. And that people giving her odd looks weren't doing that because she impressed them, but because they were confused by her exaggerated drama.

You cleared your throat. "Um, are-are you guys done here? It's a bit late and we're tired…"

"I think we are," officers Rogers said with a nod. "Matthews?"

"Yeah," other officer agreed. "Everything seems to be in order."

You smiled, satisfied.  _ Finally. _

Hand in hand, you and Rowena walked the officers out and sent them off with a greeting, happy this drama — this nightmare — was finally over. As soon as your door was locked tight, you let out a deep, hard sigh you'd been holding back for a while. Relief flooded you, weight lifting off your aching shoulders.

You guessed it could have been worse. Those could have been hunters instead of police officers at your door.

Thinking of it like that didn't make you feel any better.

"I wanted to kill that bloody copper!" Rowena exclaimed, startling you.

"What happened?" you asked. "What did he say to you?"

Knowing her, it could have been something minor, something random that wouldn't have offended anyone who wasn't Rowena MacLeod. You loved the woman, but she had a temper as explosive as a firecracker and an intense difficulty mode that seemed to be her default setting.

"He gave me this!" She held up the crumpled piece of paper, ripped at the folds.

You took it from her, observed it. It was blank, save from a number printed in the middle. "What is it?"

"A number for a women's shelter two cities away! A bloody women's shelter!" she said, outraged at the very prospect of going there.

The prospect of going there because of  _ you. _

Never. Not in a million years.

All you'd done from day one was keep her safe. Protect her. Take care of her. You'd worked so hard to earn her trust; you'd never do anything to lose it.

"Who does he think he is?" Rowena said, echoing your thoughts with perfect precision.

Who was he? How dare he make that assumption? How dare he think you would ever hurt her?

He didn't know you. Didn't know her. Didn't know anything about either of you, about your relationship. He had no right to imply such horrid things without a shred of insight of what happened.

Yes, he was just doing his job, and yes, you, too, would be suspicious of a person's injury, but this was different. This was you and Rowena. At worse, the two of you screamed your lungs at each other. And then spent the rest of the day making up for it by hugging, kissing, and makeup sex. The thought that either one of you would hurt the other was absurd.

"He comes into  _ our _ house," Rowena ranted, "invades  _ our _ privacy, and he has the gall to make assumptions about you! About us! Who does he bloody think he is?!"

She threw her hands up exasperatedly and shouted out a word of Latin, and a picture (one of the ugly ones you'd been begging Rowena for months to get rid of) tumbled down and landed in a rain of shattered glass and wood.

You laid your hand on her shoulders. She trembled under your touch, angry beyond belief, but instantly calmed at the contact.

"It's okay," you whispered gently, soothingly. You hated seeing her like that. It wasn't her, wasn't the sweet girl you'd come to love. "He's a dick, and he's gone. He's not worth getting worked up over."

"You've been so good to me all these years," she said, a trace of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "I'll not let some uncultured Neanderthal tarnish your name."

Your heart swelled with warmth at her words. "He's a nobody."

"Aye, but still…"

"A nobody," you repeated, pressing your forehead to hers. Your eyes closed for a short moment, basking in the feel of her skin on yours, impossibly soft, incredibly warm. "Feels nice, though. You defending my honor and all."

She stepped back and playfully slapped your arm. "Shut up."

"My wee defender," you teased. "Emphasis on  _ wee." _

The glare she shot you had certainly killed before. "Rude," she said, lower lip popping out in an adorable pout. "I fight for you, and you repay me with cruelty."

"The cop was right. I'm totally abusing you," you said with a laugh.

"I'm beginning to think he was," Rowena said petulantly.

"You should call that shelter."

"Keep at it and I just might."

"Drama queen."

"Ungrateful brat."

The two of you exchanged a look and, after a long moment of awkward silence, burst into joint laughter.

"God, I love you," you said. "Did you know that?"

Rowena shrugged. "Remind me?"

Gladly. "I love you. So much. Even when you're being difficult, and a bitch, and a drama queen. I don't think there's a side of you I don't love. You're just so… loveable."

A grin broke out on her mouth, wide and happy. Cocking up a suggestive eyebrow, she said, "Show me you love me?"

"You wanna keep going?"

One would think having the police called over to her house over false allegations of domestic violence would ruin the mood for her.

Guess not.

"Don't you?" she asked, giving you a look that said she really hoped you did. A look that promised you could do very, very bad things to her and she would love and praise every single one of them.

The mere thought of it relit the fire between your legs, soaked your panties up with thick, wanton slick.

"Yeah."

Rowena smirked like the cat that got the cream. "Good girl."

Taking you by wrist, she led you to the bedroom and threw off her robe, bare, milky skin glistening under the fluorescent lights. Angry red welts covered her back and sides, one spreading from her breasts down to her stomach.

You looked her over, beaming with pride as you took in your handiwork. They were so beautiful. You couldn't wait to run your fingers over them, to trace them with your tongue, to kiss them as she writhed in both pain and pleasure underneath you, telling you what a good, good girl you were.

"Oh, one more thing," she said, shaking you back to reality where your work was far from finished. "This time shut the bloody blinds."

You happily obliged, and made sure to let her know she was the reason you'd forgotten to earlier. Credit where it was due.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by my awesome friend OswinTheStrange.


End file.
